


Of Darkest Days and Brightest Nights

by FeatherQuill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 08:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12453408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatherQuill/pseuds/FeatherQuill
Summary: Now that Dean is a Demon, he sees everything clearly. He should be happy. Off to live his life.If there weren´t the pesky people like Castiel and his brother Sam, not giving up on their mission to save him from his faith. And Crowley , but mostly from himself





	1. Darkest Days

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :) First and foremost - this little story just came to mind one day and I hope you enjoy reading it.  
> Let me know what you think, I am always open for comments and suggestions.

Time is a powerful thing. Castiel has always known but was never quite aware of it. Not the passing, not the boundaries it held towards human kind, angels or creatures he once upon a time itself he had gazed down upon. And yet, here he was, seeing time as his worst enemy on his quest to rescue Dean Winchesters Soul. For the world, he tells himself, for Sam who looks so broken and whose anguish he could feel in every bone of his body – from the tips of his toes to the very edge of his wings. 

He wants to smile and cry at the same moment, a notion foreign to him up until he stumbled over two bright souls and learned to admire them both. He doesn´t speak once he drops the letter Sam has written in front of yet another nameless Motel room. He knows Dean is inside – or what remains of Dean. Hope, he once heard, is a thing with feathers and the irony of it isn´t lost on him one single bit when he turns around and flies off. 

Sam Winchester looks like a boy to him. He always will, because he is so much older, knows so much more and thus he is frustrated that he cannot bring peace to the tortured human in front of him who has lost the only family he has ever known if One were to be honest.

“Hey Cas.”

Sam says with a wobbly smile and like always Castiel knows what Sam will ask. He will ask if Dean will have read the letter and if he reacted at all and like always in the last five months Castiel will tell him that he didn´t stay to see the unbelieving face of the man he holds so close to his heart, to hear the mocking laugh or to see Dean depose of the letter that asks in every word imaginable to come on home.

“Sam.”

He says instead, weary expression on his face and a warm hand on Sams shoulder. He doesn´t know how long they can take it any more but he hopes. They both do. 

~*~

Dean doesn´t throw away the letter – no matter what they both think. He collects it and shoves it into a drawer, next to his wallet and phone unopened. Sammy wouldn´t understand his reasons anyway, cannot grasp his decision and he doesn´t even try to explain it to Cas. 

A snort leaves his mouth around the last drags of a cigarette and the taste of cheap Whiskey. He shouldn´t think of Castiel of all the beings in the world when he hangs around Crowley for all that is unholy - but he does. He thinks of the flutter of wings he pretends he cannot hear in front of his Motel room or the tingle of angelic Grace he pretends is because of his latest conquest in bed.   
He doesn´t remember the names, doesn´t remember the story he is told by any of them he takes in. No matter how pretty they are and what gender they may have. Not that he ever cared about that. 

Still, he knows who wrote those letters because he will always remember the days he spent teaching Sammy how to write in seedy Motel rooms between Soda Cans and Poptarts. He still can smell the ink of the pens he stole from the front desk if he really tries. Thing is, he doesn´t want to try, doesn´t want to even think about anything at all. He is done. So he orders another round, watches the glass in front of him with something that could be called relief when somebody settles near to him. Without looking up he opens his mouth, corners curling up into a smirk that once had been a fond smile. 

“So, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

There is a pause, long and almost suffocating.

“It did immensely, as you are well aware of Dean. You were there.”

Leave it to Cas to state truly epic things like that as if he would read a tax report. Dean turns on his barstool, nearly falling off.

“So, you´re here to fight me?”

There is a challenge in his voice, eyes black like coal, mouth turned up into a smirk. 

“No.”

Castiel is an Angel, Dean knows that. He knows that the man in front of him is in fact, not a man but a powerful being that could rip him to shreds if he would choose to but doesn´t – and it angers him. 

“Actually I am not here for you.”

The Angels tone is cold and his blue eyes are flashing with grace. When he was human Dean always wondered why something called Grace could be so cold. Now he only snarls and turns away and nearly jumps when a letter is placed in front of him.

“In case the others got lost.”

Castiel states and stands up to leave. 

The whole affair baffles Dean so much that later in the night he rips the drawer to the nightstand open and begins to open the letters, one by one without reading them at first. He starts with the last one, the one that still smells like Cas because the Angel had it tucked in his trench coat. He wonders why he cares, he wonders why they care. 

_  
Dean,_

_I know you think you have nothing to come home to anymore.  
That´s not true, we both know it – even Cas knows it, and you know how slow he sometimes is._

__

Dean snorts and sets the piece of paper aside like it might burn into his skin, exorcise him. All he wants is to be free. Free from the Damnation Fate laid upon him, free from the burden on his back. But he never is, never will be, even if he pretends. There are always people who will love him, hold on , cling to him, always have been.

 

__  
Come home  


Sammy, always trying so hard to do the right thing. Home, he knows, they have no home. Never had. Not in the sense other people have, how other children grow up. No home in a building if you asked Dean.

~*~

“What did Feathers want?”

Leave it to Crowley to scare the shit out of him, even if he himself is a Demon. But Crowley, he   
isn´t a fool, isn´t a joker – he is dangerous and sucks the life of everything he chooses to do so, black tar to Castiels bright light.

“None of your business.”

He says before he grasps his car keys and jacket, ready to leave. He was always good at that, leaving when nothing else remained and everything seemed to have been burned down to nothing but cinders. Anger begins to boil under his skin, close to the surface , untamed and wild. It wants to be let loose, wants to be freed into the night to burn bright like a star. 

He doesn´t sing, doesn´t belt the lyrics out – instead he grinds his jaw, inner beast howling. 

“Fuck!”

He exclaims, finally registering where he is, a confused Sam standing across from him. Hell, he knows that look, has known it his entire life. 

“Dean?”

Sam can sound so small, even if he is all grown up now. It´s the same look he has thrown their father when John came in from a hunt, frustrated and drunk – no, defeated. Not that Dean blames him anymore for now he understands, sees it clearly. Sees that there isn´t much of a point to it when all they do is loose, so he lets go, lets everything flow away from himself and into deepest, darkest blackness. At least that what he tells himself , that he can be a Knight , even if it is of hell and with Crowley as a substitute for a king. 

He leans against Baby, eyes black like the night stretching between them.   
_Family don´t end in blood_  
A voice not unlike Bobby Singer whispers into his stormy thoughts and he spits on the ground.

“Heya Sammy.”

The voice is still the same, although the Cheeriness is false and it cuts Sam deeply. There he stands, hands clutched around bags full of foods he bought in hopes Dean would come back, would be home – that everything would get back to how it had been. Hope, that was the only thing left, he knew that much, even if Castiel never said it, he could see it in the Angel, the look of pain that crossed his features every time he came back without Dean, like it would be his fault. It wasn´t. Never had been.   
Castiel was not an Angel anymore, not in the way Zachariah or Raphael had been, a far cry from his brothers that looked down on him because he choose. Choose heart and love and a human soul over heaven. 

When Sam was a child, he had dreamt of heaven like every child probably did. Fluffy clouds, Angels with harps looking over than. And later in life, his heaven had been a smile and blonde curls but that hadn´t lasted. Now he knew. He knew that heaven was cold and white, blind to all the things that shouldn´t be or aren´t accepted. He knows Hell as well as Dean, knows what is down there and what it offers to make people stay. 

The sad thing is, they are stuck in the middle.

“Have I ever told you that joke ? A Demon and an Angel walk into a bar – well. You know the drill.”

He pushes away from the car that meant so much to him but now seems a distant memory with all it holds. Something holding him here.

“Come on, come out and play, Sunshine.”

Castiel doesn´t even pretend to hide and the blade in his hand glistens through the darkness of the night surrounding them. Time, he thinks. They need more time, they need a cure, need something else. 

“Cas, no!”

Dean laughs. A hollow and cruel sound.

“Yeah, Cas - no Cas. What a waste of time.”

Castiel doesn´t say a single word, lips pressed together. He has fought wars without batting an eye, killed without remorse but he cannot do that now. Time has changed him, made him weak in the eyes of some while he himself thinks he has improved, has learned that there isn´t only black and white but a lot of shades of grey in between them all. 

Still, he is a warrior and so he knows when to strike, instincts born and never shed, a struggle to hold down a Demon as powerful as Dean because, he came to know that over time as well that those who were the most wonderful humans can be the cruellest of demons. It is more a dance than a fight, well learned and often fought.

“You´re just gonna stand there Sammy! You let your brother down!”

Sam cracks his knuckles so hard together that he draws blood, but he watches. He watches when Castiel puts Dean in spelled handcuffs because he cannot. He has heart, he is no Angel. He is afraid he might kill Dean because he isn´t a warrior, hasn´t the cold light of Grace pumping through his veins like Castiel whose eyes glow and whose mouth opens around phrases in Enochian that Sam will never forget for his entire life while dragging Dean into the bunker, away from the world outside. 

He wants Dean to come home but he doesn´t know if Dean ever will. Still, he hopes , even if he has given up on prayers along with his imagination of what Angels are like, because – well, he knows.  
Instead he picks up what he has dropped, wants to kick at the beer cans in front of his feet in the rubble when a chuckle reaches his ears.

“I gather I am not invited to the party Moose? Shame that, really. I know how to mix mean Margaritas. ”

Crowley. Of all the things in the world it has to be Crowley. Naturally.   
Sam glares at the innocent shopping bags in front of him as if they would bite him at any moment but he tries to refrain from saying anything that could give Crowley the feeling that he somehow is their friend. 

He isn´t. He is a dangerous creature and a little voice that oddly sounds like John Winchester whispers that Castiel is as well, that he only wears skin and bone not belonging to him, that he took someone´s life as well just not saying it like Crowley would. Sam often wonders if there is a difference between Angels and Demons and comes to the conclusion that there is nothing but a blurred line nobody wants to acknowledge. Well, maybe nobody but Crowley who is slick like oil and whose wings, if he would have them would be black and reeking of tar in Sam´s imagination.

A blood curdling scream disrupts the tense Silence and Crowley just raises his eyebrows.

“It seems they are starting without you, Moose.”

Sam feels his hands clench again but Crowley just holds up his hands and rights his tie, glaring at the warding invisible for the human eye before focusing on Sam again. A snake in the garden of Eden, he thinks without humour.

“What do you want Crowley?”

He hisses, feeling like someone who doesn´t get the joke that is played on them. 

“Oh, I want many things - you know, a house on the Caiman Islands, or one of those nifty back scratch thingies if I am feeling itchy again. Ah , yes – and what is mine. My sweetest Prince of Hell if you want to wax poetic and all that.”

Sam grits his teeth so hard, he can feel it in his jaw.

“Hate to break it to you Crowley but Dean is far out of your league.”

Crowley isn´t even remotely moved.

“If you want to believe that, boy – do it. Me? I got time, all the time in the world. I can wait.”

And just as soon as he appeared Crowley is gone in a cloud of smoke but his words linger and sting. He has a point and that is the annoying thing. Crowley always has but Sam doesn´t want to think about it, doesn´t even want to try and understand what the Demon means, that would only fuel his headache. So he just grabs the bags with his purchases and heads inside. 

~*~

The Bunker is eerily quiet once Sam enters and he is alert, more than ever to every sound even now that he knows that Castiel has likely restrained Dean. He puts away his purchases with trembling hands, a jar of mixed pickles slipping from his fingers and shattering to the floor. He stares at it for five minutes before he curses and slams the fridge shut, turning to face the truth, which could be ugly. 

The truth reveals Dean tied to a chair and Castiel standing in front of him ramrod straight. Not a muscle twitches in his face, nor does he move at all. A statue but Sam knows the Angel isn´t unaffected- at least he hopes as much. Apparently he barged into what could be , if you would see it that way an argument between lovers.   
“James Novak.”

Dean says and his eyes are inky black, mouth curled into a snarl- that isn´t Dean. Castiel however doesn´t rise to the bait.

“James Novak was a good man. He prayed for his faith and he got rewarded.”  
Dean laughs. No, not Dean, Sam thinks to himself and he swallows loud enough that Dean focuses coal black eyes on him.

“Sammy, finally here to join us, aren´t you. You were always good at it though, you know - running away.”

Sam knows that is not really Dean talking but then again, some part of Dean thinks that, has harboured those feelings long enough that they come to the surface now.

“Dean.”

He manages but Dean spits at him. Castiel doesn´t say a thing before he produces a needle and sticks it into his arm to draw blood. He could do it differently but he wants to reassure Sam that there is a cure, doesn´t want to give in to the things that are thrown their way like tiny shreds of glass to blind them. Castiel knows that rage makes you blind and careless, a thread that not only humans share. He has seen it in his brothers and sisters through wars , through peace and how it repeats itself over and over again. 

They forget that he isn´t human and never will be, no matter how much he loves humanity, no matter how much the borrowed heart in his chest flutters when he lays eyes on Dean Winchester. The real Dean Winchester and not the person he pulls over his face because he wants to protect those he loves at any cost. He understands now. 

“Dean.”

Dean parrots, years of anger built up in his body, freed and unleashed all at once, ready to tear the world apart. Castiel doesn´t blame him and Sam would never do that , either. It is, he came to know over the years, a Winchester thread to endure things and suffer in silence. Astounding and madding at the same time for the Angel.

“So you think a little Angel blood can cure the bad out of me, Cas, don´t you? You think you do the right thing for me?”

Castiel, to his credit, doesn´t speak, doesn´t move save for taking a step forward and injecting Dean with his blood. Dean sputters and snarls, fury and hurt visible like the first rays of sunshine. 

“No. As you so rightly put it, I don´t know you. I am not your family, nor are we in any way acquainted. Your words are wasted as are your gestures. Dean Winchester is a righteous man and he always will be, no matter what you do or say.”

No matter how Cas says it, it´s clear as day in that moment to everyone present that he sees a difference, sees beneath flesh and bone that make up Dean Winchester as the humans around him came to know him. And Sam? Sam cannot stand it, has to turn his face away. Castiel doesn´t blame him. Not anymore, not now that he can relate, can understand. Deans eyes turn green.

“Sammy.”

He tries, pleading and voice wobbly - a voice Sam remembers hearing only once or twice back in his childhood, a distant memory now that serves as nothing but a taunt from demonic lips.

“I am not talking to you.”

The younger Winchester hears himself say, kind of like he would be watching the whole exchange from far away and from a different angle. Instead of over thinking the whole thing, he injects another needle into Deans arm, making the demon howl. This time it is Castiel who looks away. 

Castiel, as Sam well knows is new to feelings. Real feelings, so Sam lets him be, wanders away and shuts himself into his room ,trying to ignore the Singing coming through the air vents because, no. He doesn´t want to hear _Hey Jude_ like that, as a taunt and not a loving way to put someone you love to sleep so they can rest and forget their troubles and rest. 

He only wants his brother back. He wants his brother to come home and that is that. 

~*~

Castiel on the other hand, he cannot stand the wave of emotions aimed at him any longer, so he pulls what many would call a classic Dean Winchester move. He shuts his eyes, ears and that what he came to know of the incredible inconvenient organ as heart he tries to ignore. 

The guy behind the Gas n´ Sip counter looks at him with something that could be fear, if he would look closely enough. He doesn´t. Instead he neatly lines twenty bottles of Whiskey, Rum and Vodka up on the counter. 

“Will that be-be- all Sir?”

He can read the boys thoughts, can see that he in reality behind a false mask of politeness hides fear and disgust. Disgust because the boy has dealt with one drunk too many and fear because certainly he will get robbed. Castiel chuckles at that, glancing behind the boy.

“Cherry Pie, if you have it.”

He says instead of snapping the infuriating creatures neck with his fingers because , really he cannot let his anger loose on someone strange, someone that only is in the wrong place at the wrong time.   
A voice that sounds a lot like Gabriel echoes through his stormy thoughts, loud and clear while he fumbles for his wallet, gets out a Credit Card that Dean proudly presented him with one day without much of a comment. 

_Like you, Cassie – you know, I never would have taken you for a sap – yet here you are. You are in love and it hurts. Sucks for you bucko to be lost, doesn´t it?_

He slams the card down a little to hard and makes the boy behind the counter flinch and nearly drop the pie he holds in his hands. 

“Here you go Sir, have a wonderful day.”

Is thrown after him once the card checks out and the fear in the young man subsides gradually. Mindlessly he wanders around for a bit.

His path leads him nowhere so he flies off, lets his wings spread and all of a sudden he finds himself on a bench in a park he knows all too well. It´s quiet there and no children run around but he knows the place, glances at the empty bench beside him. He opens the first bottle and drinks it without hesitation, dutifully throwing the empty glass into a trash can. Even after he he has emptied every single bottle he feels – well – not sober. There is a slight fuzz to his vision and his anger has intensified.   
He stares at the pie still in the otherwise empty bag like he wants to smithe it. 

“Now, I feel hurt. Not even one drop left for an dear old friend?”  
Crowley. Of course it is Crowley. Castiel looks at him, eyes glowing blue and cold, his Grace making the ground around them shake and birds scatter from the trees in fear.  
Crowley holds up his hands.

“I am..well – I know this sounds a little bit like something out of context but actually I am here to talk , Feathers.”

If Castiel were sober, he would tell the Demon what he thinks about all the things said Demon does or has the nerve to talk about but since he is not, he just snorts.

“You and Squirrel having a lovers tiff? 

Castiel turns his head so fast that the pie he sat aside almost crashes to the ground but Crowley catches it with a smirk.

“So you started it then , Feathers?”

Castiel feels tired, the weight of his wings forcing him down but he will not give in to the silver tongued man.

“I started nothing.”

So what if he sounds like a petulant human child and Crowley gives him a look that is almost close to pity but only almost because Crowley, is after all, Crowley. Crowley just waves his hand dismissively. 

“No, but you will end it. I know you. The real you. You know, the being that neither of those lovely bright eyed boys has seen. Well, their friend has – hasn´t she?”

It´s a long time since he thought of Pamela Barnes. No, that isn´t true. He hasn´t thought about of her at all. He had warned her and she hadn´t listened at all. She had hated him, and he didn´t blame her at all nor does he now. Sometimes he still doesn´t understand humans – or demons. Well, maybe not even Angels.

“I would say , go to hell but I learned that it defeats the purpose and is a comedic effort not really worth its outcome.”

At that Crowley raises his eyebrows, eyes glimmering red in the dying daylight.

“You mean you got not a funny bone in your body, Castiel, that what you´re saying?”

Yes, he is – in a way. He always has been a soldier, there to serve and protect, something humans did as well even if not for thousands of years. 

“Why are you here again?”

Crowley shrugs.

“Moose didn´t seem to be in the mood to talk so I ..”

Castiel glances at Crowley. Not at what Sam and Dean might see – no, he sees it all. The truth hidden, like he is hidden. Only he asked, didn´t he? Again his thoughts flutter to James Novak, to his terrified wife and the daughter that was too small to understand what he had wanted from her but had agreed because, after all – her father had always told her Angels were something pure and good, something to look up to. Until he met one. 

“Oh come on now, mate.It´s not that we are in a war now, are we? You are just – oh yeah, emotional.”

He stands, Crowley does as well but moves away, sly smile in place.

“I could make you a deal, you know – regarding Dean.”

Castiel growls at that, actually growls.

“There is nothing that you could do about Dean and I will not be entrapped by anything you say about him. He is a good man, someone that deserves better.”

But what is better? Castiel doesn´t know anymore while Crowley only sighs, rakes a hand through his hair.

“No need to get nasty there, Feathers. We had our differences in the past and I know I got a bit carried away with your friend but that is all in the past, isn´t it?”

What was the saying again? Something with Saints and patience – but Castiel was no saint, he knows that now, even if he thought different once upon a time. Long before any of those he so deeply came to care about were even born. Or their parents for that matter. Those were simpler times. He doesn´t know why he says it , but he does it. He wants to hurt something , someone and Crowley is there. 

“Like your son? Your own flesh and blood you never even cared about? The one you kept trying to bring back to yourself and failed to do so like you failed at everything else in your lonely little miserable human life Fergus Roderick Mac Leod ? No matter what skin you wear or what you think, you will never be worthy of anything. Not even the dirt under your feet.”

He knows that it stings by the way the demons eyes flash for a moment.

“I see, Moose is not the only one with a nasty temper tonight. Well then, pleasure meeting you and all that. Until next time, Feathers.”

Just as soon as he appeared, he is gone, leaving Castiel with nothing but a cold pie he will never be able to taste and that was only bought in the hope that Dean will come back to them.   
No, he corrects himself. Back to him, because the kind of emotion he feels is selfish love that he now, that it is too late, can accept for what it is

~*~

Sam waits for him in the kitchen and it makes his fist clench at his sides because he knows why Sam is in the kitchen. The kitchen is what Dean loved most of the bunker and it pains Castiel to know that the younger of the brothers flees there in the vain hopes to find what he is looking for. Castiel however knows he will not. There is no mincing it , no way to lessen the impact.

They are both fools, he thinks when Sams voice brings him into the here and now, makes him aware of just how pitiful he has become, how thoughtless.   
If Dean, the real Dean would be present right now he would probably smack him over the back of the head and call them idiots, just like Bobby Singer did in that special way of his. Castiel liked Robert Singer, for he was a brutally honest man that would have done everything for the ones he loved and had done just that. Over and over again without gaining ground. 

Sam tries again, a warm hand on his shoulder, an awed expression on his face.

“Did you.. is that Pie?”

Sam sounds like a child again and Castiel wants to slap himself for bringing back the hurt Sam seemed to have forgotten for a moment raiding the pantry. Truth is, for all his obsession with healthy eating habits Sam just doesn´t know his way around a kitchen for the life of him. No, he did always have Dean for that and there it is, the guilt tugging at him . That is the reason Sam is hiding in the kitchen, trying to get away from taunting words that hold an ounce of truth. It just hurts too much to stand.

Castiel swallows around the lump in his throat, setting the pie down on the kitchen counter, next to the bottles.

“Yes. I also brought alcohol because I have learned that it seems to be a preferred coping mechanism in your family, although I cannot approve of it. At least from my experience in the field.”

Despite the heartache all around Sam has to laugh but as soon as he started, he stops. He remembers the time times John Winchester came home reeking of cheap perfume and cheaper booze, hardly able to stand on his own two feet. He doesn´t want to remember those times but he does because it is burned into his mind like the ink of the protective sign is painted on his skin. 

“Yeah, Dad was a fine teacher in that department.”

Castiel says nothing, just tilts his head to the side and waits. Sam knows the Angel is good at waiting, at enduring things and that he forgets that in front of him, beneath soulful blue eyes and an ass ugly tench coat something else is hiding that he never wants to see in it´s true form, if he is honest with himself. 

“Did your father also find everything that was told him funny and felt the urge to dance even if the music was just noise?”

At that he laughs again, cannot help it because the images that John Winchester would start to dance around and giggle is too much. 

John never giggled or danced when he was drunk. He just stared at the pictures of his dead wife and the two boys that were robbed of their innocence. 

_Always chasing ghosts_ the younger one of said sons thinks without mirth, closely followed by a bout of insanity that makes him guffaw once he imagines his three year old self toddling towards his silently weeping father, trying to form the words   
_Hey Dad, how about you dance a jig and laugh some instead of trying to change what nobody can change anyway?_  
He cannot stop, his chest hurts, his lungs burn but he really cannot stop it until he is full on crying and slamming his hand on top of the kitchen counter forcefully enough that he hears his bones snap. The pain is immense but he hardly notices. The Angel still beside him does and somehow said Angel seems to be royally pissed off. No, not pissed off – that isn´t something Cas would say. 

_Furious_ yeah, that´s more like it. 

Furious that he cannot help, that he cannot do anything, that he doesn´t understand what kind of pain aside from physical the hunter feels. He can do nothing, nothing except splaying his fingers over the larger ones and mend bones. Castiel doesn´t scream, he doesn´t curse and he offers no comfort aside a brief squeeze of a broad shoulder because he has come to learn that sometimes it is not wholly accepted to give comfort. 

Instead he turns around ready to leave the kitchen and Sam behind him with no way to go back and no way to go forward. Well, that´s not strictly true but in the metaphorically way it is suiting enough. Faintly, he can hear Crowleys smooth voice still in his head, smug smile in place that he will end it. 

That is his mission? Is is not, to be the soldier that brings down those who are unholy with all the wrath and fury that heaven has to offer. He should know, seasoned soldier that he is , that there is never a war without victims and that victim is another word that is always differently defined. 

John Winchester has also been a victim. From what Castiel did hear before he had the mission to raise his son from hell. He had never wanted to be anything than a righteous man, someone who wanted that what humans would call the picket fence life – if he remembers correctly from the many times Dean has told him. Dean never talks much about his father but Castiel is sure that is more from becoming like the man than resentment on the younger mans part.

In his way, the Angel muses – John loved his children but could never quite come over the guilt he felt for the death of his wife even in the end it had been Mary Winchester herself who had sealed her faith out of love. He doubts that John ever knew why she did or if she did it but he knows enough of the human mind to know it isn´t easy to see logic over emotions, maybe now more than ever, because his feet carry him to Deans room. 

Nothing special, or so Dean always claims but Dean also has been a lousy liar – that he kept everything he could salvage through the years, scrapbook pieces of a torn apart family. Sam hovers in the doorway behind the Angel, kneeling on the floor, apparently having himself under control again. Castiel is glad for small miracles these days.

“Cas?”

Sam tries, not knowing if the Angel himself has an emotional breakdown, knowing that they talk about Dean as if he wouldn´t be there when in fact he is only a few doors away but not Dean at all. Instead he is – well , no Sam will not go down that road until he is plastered and that makes him chuckle again although he waves it off once Castiel whips his head around , squinting. 

“I am looking for something.”

He says in way of explanation, rummaging through the trunk in front of Deans bed until he finds it. Old and tattered, the journal of a girl that has peace signs all over it and doodles of flowers, a journal of hope that also has been crushed. How fitting ,it seems to be the last they have.

“What is that?”  
Castiel doesn´t hesitate before he speaks, before he can think of doing what would be tactful – they are out of time for tact.

“This is the journal of your mother Sam. Your father kept it and when he passed away it came to be in Deans possession. He told me about it in passing.”

After Purgatory, after Benny. They have lost a lot along the way – that they all know it and he doesn´t want to say it again, doesn´t need to.

“What are you planning to do with it?”

Castiel knows the next words that will come out of his mouth will sound more or less as if he has finally given into madness (again, a little voice sounding like Meg tells him briefly).

“I am going to read to Dean from it.”

Sam crosses his arms in front of his chest, Hunters instincts. 

“Why?”

What Sam means is _Why not let me do it?_ but Castiel doesn´t say that out loud either. 

“I do not know how to say it otherwise, forgive me Sam – but..”

Sam snaps, face red and hands trembling, wanting to reach for the journal in Castiels hands.   
If they were both human , he would stand a chance – but only one of them is and so the Angel shoves the Hunter away with not more than a hand, locking all of the doors behind him on his way towards where Dean is kept locked with his Grace, ignoring Sams outraged cries that fade into nothing but annoying murmurs the farther he moves away from the human.

~*~

Black eyes stare at him when he enters the room where Dean is kept and the smirk of the Demon is firmly in place.

“Oh, did my little birdy bring me a gift after leaving me in this lonely nest all by myself?”

Castiel is unimpressed once he sits down on the chair in front of the other man, staring down at the book in his hands. He shouldn´t care that he might rescue Dean but might destroy whatever they had between them as well. Soldiers, he had often heard – often suffered great loss. It didn´t matter now.

“No.”

He says. Dean is still smirking, rattling his chains.

“You are asking me to prom then Cas? Aw, you should have let me get dressed probably and asked Sammy to take a picture of us. He might have cried, you know – he always cried so damn much.”

Castiels voice is cold. 

“You don´t know that, Demon. You merely feast on Deans memories.”

A snarl is the only answer he gets but it is something he can work with. The real reason he didn´t want Sam to be with them or alone with the demon is that he knows that Sam will always see his brother, no matter what Sam might claim. 

“Is this another one of those pathetic letters then, because – oh boy , does little Dean hate them because they are so true – to close for comfort and all that.”

That is a subtle change Castiel notices but doesn´t comment on further.

“No. Just listen. For amusement if you for nothing else.”

Coal black eyes stare back at him and a smirk flickers over Deans face.

“Alright then, let´s start. You didn´t bring any of that Pie you got, did you? I am starving.”

The Angels expression is cold and blank. This is one of the reasons he doesn´t want Sam near them, even if Sam might hate him afterwards. Humans were strange in that way.

“I am afraid I forgot but you will not starve, so let´s continue.”

Without letting another word come out of the mouth of what was once his friend he starts to read.

_“My dearest Dean, you are far too young to understand why I write this but I hope you will understand it someday if you ever get your hands on it. If you do, I am afraid neither John or I am around to tell you that everything will be just fine and that you are the best big brother for Sam that there is and ever will be. I hope it never comes to that”_

_Castiel stops, ignoring the snarling thrown his way._

_“Stop that!”_

_He continues , unfazed._

__”I am afraid that we also will never be the parents of the year. I cannot cook for the live of it and I do hope you will find a way to get a little more skilled than your father and me. Anyway, I do not want to pester you with my poor household skills._ _

_The chains around Deans arms rattle._

_“STOP!”_

_Castiel winces, but he doesn´t stop. He cannot, it has gone too far already, so he continues, soldering on._

__”I made a lot of mistakes in my life Dean. John and me, we both did but whatever we did – we did one thing right and that were our lovely, precious boys. I hope that you and Sam both, will have found a home once you read this and that if Angels are indeed watching over you, you will never even heard about the second meaning of hunting.”_ _

_At that Castiel swallows but Dean hasn´t said a word, hasn´t moved in his chains and he cannot hear Sam down the hall either._

__”Your father thinks I am foolish with my Angel obsession but then again he knows not much aside from fixing cars. Don´t let me start on getting Grease out of his clothes or this will be a novel. Still, I know that life is seldom kind and that there are a lot of things out in the world that will frighten you but I know you will make it, just like your father and me always have.”_ _

_Castiel stops again. Dean hasn´t moved a muscle and he sees that as a good sign as well as the invitation to continue._

__”I might have gotten in over my head this time, but I do not do that , so – whatever life throws your way, you got to faith. Promise me that if nothing else, Dean – and that you look after Sam, for he is still so small but you both won´t be forever.”_ _

_The closing of the journal by Castiels shaking hand is deafening and finally he is looked at again. Green, confused eyes meet his blue ones, parted lips open in question._

_“Cas?”_

_He cannot say anything for a moment._

_“Dean.”_

_He starts, legs weak and shaking._

_“Welcome home. I am going to fetch Sam.”_

_And before Dean can get his head around of what the hell happened and why he has had those strange dreams, his best friend is out the door, calling his brothers name. How drunk was he?_


	2. Brightest Nights

Sam always talked more than Dean, tried to see the logic and the good will in everything. Nowadays, and that means exactly two weeks after Dean has somewhat returned to his old self, Sam doesn´t talk much at all.

In fact, he might be talking less than Castiel, which in itself is alarming enough but he cannot help and feel the anger rise inside himself at that as well.   
It is not that he wanted all that was thrown his way but he always had taken it in stride. Naturally, he asks Sam about it, because he feels he _must_

Sam just stares at him. He doesn´t even move a muscle, doesn´t roll his eyes. There is nothing in his face and for a moment Dean wants to crack jokes like they always did in the past but that is the thing. The past ist just what it is – past. 

“Look Dean. I ..it´s not that easy.”  
Anger boils inside Dean.

“Hold your fucking horses there Samantha and don´t you blame it on me.”

Sam goes quiet.

“That´s just it. I cannot _not_ blame it on you Dean. We both know that a demon is nothing but a human without a soul who lets everything loose and let me tell you , that you did.”

With that he just turns around and leaves Dean to gape after him.

“Sammy?”

He asks as if by some mysterious force Sam will magically appear. The only thing that happens is the loud slamming of a door, leaving him to his thoughts.

 

~*~

It is no surprise, that once Sam has calmed down enough that he begins to talk to Dean, like he always has, always will do because they are bound by blood and memories that not even hell can destroy, no matter what the forces involved might try.

Sam may be different in many ways from Dean but he still is a Winchester so his words aren´t minced. No, there was never much holding back if it didn´t involve feelings and , honest to God, Dean doesn´t know what he should feel, not at all. 

It´s like he is standing in the eye of a storm, not knowing where to go and where he is exactly. _Trapped_ \- he feels trapped in an invisible cage, people pulling at him from all directions, memories taunting him and the words that left his lips coming back to add insult to injury.

“So..”

Dean says and even to his own ears it sounds lame. He feels like he is fifteen again. He isn´t thought. He is a grown man with more or less the same amount of scars on his body and on his soul.

Still, he is standing,trying to make his way through the life that has become his. _Theirs_ a little voice that sounds like Jess when she was scolding him over the phone, tells him inside his head.

He never told John that he had known the girl, had thought that Sam should do what he wanted to – trying to break free from what they had done their entire lives. John in turn, had never told him that one of the biggest arguments he ever had with Bobby had been about the man trying to teach him how to throw a ball instead of training. 

Everybody had their secrets. 

“So.”

Sam says and picks at the label of his beer. Dean will have to work for that, he knows. He will need to grovel, something he had always hated – had it been with their father or at a new school. Instead of yelling at his brother to _finally_ say what the hell he wants to say, the older man closes his eyes and counts to ten.

“Where does that leave us?”

At that Sam actually has the nerve to smile. The smile that Dean always kind of hated because it also was the smile that told Dean he had missed something. Something that was epic and he had just walked by, never looking back. 

“Dean. I am your brother.”

Dean just stares across the table at Sam , making sure that is all he wants to say on the matter. _Feelings_ he thinks and snorts before taking a pull of his beer, wondering if they ever will get to the point were they will actually talk about feelings or ..well – whatever. 

Feelings, that makes him frown for a moment.

“Why you think Cas did it?”

Dean Winchester, glutton of self punishment, always has been , always will be. Man, he should get that on a plate to mount to his door. Sam squirms for a moment in his seat. A subtle shift of muscle and bone but, like Sam has pointed out earlier – they are brothers, so Dean knows that something is up. That there is something Sam isn´t telling.

“Sam.”

He tries for patience, really he tries but he will never be patient. Not in this life or the next one. Sam just glares at him before giving a huff and taking a deep breath.

“I haven´t seen him exactly. Or talked to him in the last two weeks.”

Dean stands so abruptly that the chair he had been sitting on topples to the ground behind him. Sam doesn´t even flinch.

“What the hell do you mean?”

This is common ground, he can work with that – his anger and his rage, something he has always been good at. Now it is simply more controlled than it has been before.   
_Like for instance when he was a Demon_ his inner and somewhat Crowley like voice reminds him. 

“I mean, that _Castiel_ , has left, Dean. He hasn´t said a word, just put the damn journal back where you told him you stashed it, nodded and _left_.”

By now Sam is so frustrated, he almost screams. No, scratch that, he _is_ screaming. At the top of his lungs for that matter. Dean on the other hand has gone very quiet, almost standing there like a statue unless one took his heaving chest in account.

“And you let him?”

Sam stares at him from his place as if he has lost it for good. 

“No Dean, I stood up, told him that I will make him stay even if he wants to go because you want to talk at him, like normal people do.”

The sarcasm is biting in Sams voice and Dean understands why he talks like that even if it angers Dean.   
He always forgets that Cas isn´t human, no matter how soulful his eyes look or how clueless he stares at them when Sam is bitching about losing at _Words with friends_. Dean would have tried to explain it to the Angel but he gave up after four painstaking hours of doing so. 

That´s just it, isn´t it? Castiel is an Angel of the Lord, wings on his back and a halo around his head. He will never be human, never understand some things. Like personal space for example. 

“Not a word?”

It´s hard to form sentences for Dean once another wave of annoying feelings slams right into him while he is no Demon. In fact, he is desperately trying not to cry for some odd reason. He would wish for Sam to say something, anything at all that will cure the ache in his gut.   
Sam however, sticks to the truth.

“No.”

~*~

Almost six weeks pass and not a word is heard from Castiel , no matter how much Dean prays. He wouldn´t admit to it, but he prays a lot. Had done it all through his life, if he is honest with himself. He prayed that his mother would come back to them when he was little , that Sam could be happy in the life he wanted for himself after his initial anger had died down about Sam leaving them.

He wonders if Cas knows all that, knows about the hurting he had gone through, the endless sleepless nights and the wasted away days. And he wonders if Cas cares.   
Another five dreamless, sleepless nights pass in which he turns and tosses, prowls through the Bunker like some caged animal before _something_ finally happens. 

Dean seldom dreams but when he dreams, it is not like this, hasn´t been in a long time. He is sitting in the Impala, surrounded by a clover field, buzzing with bees. He knows he is dreaming because there are no field of clover around the Bunker and certainly no bees. 

“Hello Dean.”

With a curse he hits his head on the roof of his beloved Baby, turning abruptly. He wants to say a lot of things and a million more are stuck in his throat but he doesn´t. His eyes just close and his fingers grip the back of his seat before he is able to breathe.

“Where are you?”

Castiel just blinks at him as if he wouldn´t understand, tries to focus with innocent eyes on him.

“Why does it matter?”

That is a new one, he will give the Angel that much.

“I prayed to you.”

Cas doesn´t move a muscle, eyes flickering through the wind shield of the car, following the movement of one lonesome bee. Dean feels his jaw beginning to ache from gritting his teeth together. 

“I noticed that Dean. I just thought you might want to be with your brother instead of someone you so clearly despise for doing what cannot be undone.”

Dean opens his mouth but Castiel actually shushes him and his mouth snaps shut out of pure instinct.

“You are confused, I understand that as well. Still, I beg of you that you stop thinking I could ever be human, no matter how much I strayed from my path, no matter what I have done.”

Castiel sighs, a gesture so human that is proof of the changes this _being_ has undergone. 

“I will always love you, no matter what you think. I just want for you to come to terms with what you really want. You have been forced into enough, have you not?”

Dean swallows, eyes wide and bright but before can say anything to _that_ the backseat is vacated and after Dean blinks, he wakes up in his own bed, chest heaving.

~*~

You let those you love the most go, Dean knows that. Sam knows that as well. God knows they have enough experience in that field and they both know when things aren´t just go away because you don´t talk about them. God, how Dean hates that knowing look on Sams face.

“You´re in love with him, aren´t you.”

Dean nearly spits out the bowl of cereal he isn´t really eating, coughing almost so much that Sam wants to pull an Heimlich on him. He doesn´t need to, because Dean stands from his seat at the table, slams his hands down on the surface until everything on it rattles. Sam doesn´t even blink. He just 

“Jesus, Sammy – you can´t just say shit like that!”

Sam gives a long suffering sigh that reminds Dean of his teenage years.

“Why?”

He asks, leans back and crosses his arms across his chest, daring Dean to say anything, anything at all. Dean leans heavily on the table, head bowed. Sam hates that look on his brother, because he easily recognizes it as the look of defeat Dean always wears when he thinks nobody is looking. 

Slowly he stands, grasps for Deans arms and holds on long enough for Dean to mull it over in that stubborn head of his. When Dean finally looks up, his eyes are bright with tears that won´t fall.   
The voice in which Dean speaks is far to small for a man who has faced gods and monsters alike.

That, Sam hates as well.

“You just can´t.”

Sam feels his pulse quicken again before he counts to ten, then to a hundred – so Dean prowls on.

“Why does it even matter, Sammy. He doesn´t understand what love is. Like that anyway. You should have seen him at the brothel.”

Sam really thinks that he really, really shouldn´t have and is glad that he had been spared at least that. 

“Dean.”

He says again in that voice that brooks no argument but Dean just stands and walks away. He knows he cannot run nor can he hide but he also knows that Sam will give him space. He is so lost in his thoughts that he nearly screams when another yet familiar voice reaches his ears.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean knows love. Real love. He just never admits to it easily and almost always when it is too late to fix things. Well, scratch that _almost_ and you got the Dean Winchester way of keeping your heart to yourself, hurting or not.

A million things run through his head once he has finally managed to turn around and let his fingers uncurl from around his gun. Old habits died hard. 

“What do..how..why?”

Castiel says nothing for a moment and Dean looks around. 

“I am not awake, am I?”

Castiel gives him that odd look again, tilting his head before he slaps Dean so hard that the hunter sees stars bursting behind his eyelids for a moment (or ten) 

“What the Hell?”  
He all but yells , shaking his head. Castiel is not impressed. His whole denouement is that of someone who is more than thousand percent done.

“I merely wished to convince you that you are not dreaming Dean. And hell has nothing to do with that.”

Dean blinks, fuzzy vision finally focusing on an alarmed Sam who had probably felt alarmed by all the noise. His slack jawed expression mirrors Deans confusion.

“Cas?”

Sam says, holstering his own gun, trying to get a grip on the situation.

“Yeah. Cas is here Sam. And he had to prove that he isn´t dream stalking me by slapping me into next Tuesday.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean, not even glancing at Sam who for his part thinks that he might dream. Or at least he has the vain hope.

“It is Sunday Dean. I didn´t mean to hurt you and _I am_ not the one stalking someone. If you want to put it that way, your prayers are very distracting. I cannot hear a single different thing but your constant nagging.”

While Dean tries to scrape his dropped jaw from the floor Sam uses the moment to make a swift exit.

~*~

“Why are we sitting in a Gas n´ Sip , Cas?”

Deans irritation is clear in his voice and Castiel can understand it to a degree. He was the one to show up , to give in to the prayers that robbed him of every ounce of concentration he had.

“I like the Gas n´Sip.”

Is all he offers Dean, mentally doing an inventory of the place and maybe if he admits it to himself, check if everything is in order and customer friendly. 

He buys two cups of coffee and two slices of pie while Dean watches the whole thing like it might be a dream. He knows that it isn´t, because they drove two hours in his Baby to be where they are and Castiel hasn´t spoken much, just giving him directions.

Once Dean is on his second piece of pie because Castiel hasn´t touched his own the Angel finally speaks.

“I just came to say goodbye to you Dean.”

Dean stops mid bite, eyes growing wide while he feels the floor under his feet disappear.

“Cas, you know..I didn´t mean what I said back there, you..”

Castiel interrupts him with a raised hand and on instinct he stops talking.  
“Oh yes you did. I was quite shocked by the anger you felt towards me but I do understand, from a human point of view how that would have caused you to feel it. And that is why I feel it is time to leave you and Sam alone.”

There it is again, the anger – hot red underneath his skin.

“You are a lousy liar Castiel.”

He spits and the employee behind the register peeks at them with interest instead of working. Dean can´t really blame the guy. 

“I don´t lie.”

Dean starts to laugh, standing so rapidly that the chair he has been sitting on topples backwards with a loud noise.

“Oh you do! You are just shit at it.”

It was never in Deans programming to shut up at the right moment. He knows he has gone to far when Castiels eyes begin to glow an electric blue underneath the artificial lights above them that soon shatter.

“Mind your tone, Dean Winchester. I am not one of your whores nor some idiotic child. Give me one good reason why I should stick around and act like a bumbling fool for someone who doesn´t want it.”

Dean would really like tp answer when his head wouldn´t be ringing but Castiel is furious, he is hurt despite claiming to be not human enough to feel such things. 

“Why!”

He screams while the guy behind the counter ducks and frantically tries to call the police that something is happening. 

“I am in love with you.”

The ringing in Deans ears stops a moment later and he blinks. They are no longer at the Gas n Sip, which is kind of a blessing.   
Castiels eyes are their normal blue again, a confused expression on his face.

Once Dean has his bearings together he recognizes the place. It is the clover field from his dreams.

“Where are we?”

Is the first thing that comes to his mind because he doesn´t like not knowing where he is- an old instinct from the days they were left alone for days by their father.

“James Novaks childhood home. Or the place where it was. I find it quite peaceful to be here. Stop reflecting Dean.”

Oh boy does Dean want to reflect just then but his ears are just getting back to normal and he doesn´t want to risk losing his hearing for good when he pisses the Angel off like that again.  
He swallows, looking down at his feet. 

“Dean.”

Castiel sounds gentle now, comforting – almost like a priest. That makes Deans lips twitch.

“Castiel.”

Dean tries, a faint flush on his cheeks, fists clenching at his sides for moment.

“Don´t leave.”

Each word is like shredded glass cutting away at him and he tells Castiel that in the end they all leave. Castiel understands that, knows that Dean has been burned and buried, is a broken man and yet he cannot stop his own feelings, even if he himself is unable to express his feelings the right way.

“I won´t.”

He says and just looks at Dean who mutters under his breath before practically launching himself at the man, pressing a kiss onto his lips that makes them both topple to the ground and land in an undignified heap of limps. Castiel laughs before returning the kiss, more gentle this time but full of things left unsaid.

“Don´t leave”

Dean repeats and Castiel doesn´t. Doesn´t leave when they get back to the bunker, doesn´t leave when Sam wants to know what the hell is going on and Dean tries to explain to his little brother what is what and that he and Cas are in item now, even if the Angel wants to argue that Dean is his own person.

He doesn´t leave once Dean fidgets in front of his bed and tires to say something, make a joke out of it. He understands now, completely, shushes the human with a gesture and climbs into the bed next to the other man.

Dean will not admit it in the morning after , waking in rumpled clothes and well rested that this has been the brightest night in his entire life so far. After all there is plenty of time for that.


End file.
